The sharp pain in the side of his body made him open his eyes at once. Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, he closed his eyes and tried to hold back tears of pain. He reminded himself that focusing on one spot could help him concentrate on his breathing. He stared at the ceiling of a room that he did not recognize for a long time before the pain subsided and he slowly remembered where he was.

With a groan and some effort, he rolled on his side and brought his feet to the hardwood floor. His bones creaked under his weight as he tiredly pulled himself out of the bed and wobbled a little before he managed to stand straight. Dragging his feet towards the door, he barely managed to stifle a groan of pain. Reaching the doorway felt more strenuous than running a marathon, and Andy found himself leaning against the doorframe, holding his aching side and trying to catch his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and took deep, grounding breaths. The thought that everything he'll try to do will be a struggle until his cracked ribs heal was draining and he stood in his place, contemplating whether or not he should return to bed and stay there all day.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when he heard a noise coming from across the hall. As he turned his head towards the source of the noise, he saw Sharon's bedroom door opening and Sharon's petit form padding down the hall, sleep still in her eyes as she made her way towards the bathroom. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, a startled look on her face as she saw him.

"Morning," he croaked, noticing for the first time since he woke up that his throat was dry.

"Good morning, Andy," Sharon looked downwards for a moment and then raised her gaze again. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Waiting to greet my sleeping beauty," he grinned. Sharon crossed her arms and looked at him suspiciously. "Okay, I tried to go to the bathroom, and only managed to get this far," He admitted and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Why didn't you call me, Andy? I would have helped you get there!" Sharon's eyes clearly conveyed how worried she was about him.

"I'm fine. I can walk a few steps on my own," Andy protested as she wrapped her arm around his waist and supported his weight as they walked towards the bathroom together.

"I'll wait outside, in case you need me," Sharon said before she left the bathroom and closed the door, leaning against Rusty's doorframe. She heard the toilet being flushed and then the water running in the sink and a pretty loud groan of pain that almost tempted her to knock on the door and check on him. Eventually, the door opened and Andy came out, wet spots on his shirt and his face damp.

"I'm alright," he said before Sharon could utter a single word. She wrapped her arms around his waist again and helped him back into the room, where he took a seat on the bed.

"Do you need help with the shirt?" she offered. Andy sighed and tried to lift the shirt over his head in an attempt to prove to her that he was capable of taking his clothes off on his own. A stab of pain in his left side made him put his hands down in frustration.

"I guess," he murmured. Sharon took a step towards him and gently helped him slide his arms out of the sleeves and then pulled the shirt over his head. She stifled a gasp when she saw the darkening bruises that adorned the left side of his body. Andy felt himself deflating. He hated being weak and helpless. He hated it that she saw him in this situation. Sensing his murky mood, Sharon hurried to grab a clean shirt and help him into it, and then assisted him in slipping into his forest green robe.

Andy's eyes raked over her, and he smiled at her softly. She was still wearing her pajamas – blue and pink checkered flannel pants and a soft white shirt. Her hair was gathered in a messy ponytail that was leaning to one side of her head and without her makeup and glasses, she looked very raw and fragile.

"What are you looking at?" Sharon's cheeks flushed and she looked bashful.

"I don't like being here under these circumstances. I don't like letting others take care of me," he said. "But waking up to you, looking like this every morning while I'm recuperating – that I can get used to." He smiled like the crazy fool that love has turned him into. Taking her hand, he gently pulled her downwards and pressed his lips to hers. For the first time since his injury, he saw her smile and felt her relaxing in his arms. Yes, he really could get used to this. Devouring her lips for breakfast every morning might become his favorite part of the day. And that was the most delicious breakfast he's ever had.

THE END

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